The Flickering of Seven Devils
by alltheteainchina
Summary: Malady Afirma is an agent of Section 31- a bioweapon with memory issues and alot more. She is an "opening act assassin", seducing or poisoning whatever target is required of her. This is mission 221. No Canon cameos, all OC for STiD online RP backstory. Probably a One-Shot


Malady's long black lashes fluttered open, the whites of her eyes and the green pupils reflecting spots of lights above her. Pupils stretched in adjustment to the light, taking a second inbetween flicking about the room to absorb and analyze their surroundings. The last thing she recalled, as tense hands curled slowly, was being beamed down into this maze of hallways merged with a ship and meteorite spinning at the edge of Saturn's rings.

As she began to sit up, the pale green sheet, covering what was left of her dignity, slid down as a wrist jolted her backwards. The sound of chains stopped her, and platinum eyebrows lifted up high as white hair shifted with the sharp swing of her head, testing her other wrist.

**"****So I see you're.. awake."**

A man stepped out of the one pocket of darkness in the corner. His eyes almost glowed.

**"****What ARE you doing in my lab?"**

Malady smirked pulling the chains to their limits.

**"****..Even if you break free you cannot escape the confines of this place. It is my prison and my home. The fact that anyone has managed to get into it puts emphasis on further study."**

Some of the chains snapped free, just as her target lunged at her, and the bio-weapon swung the chains as the man in the black and white uniform blocked the attack. He was taller, more muscular than an average human man, and she noticed as feet painfully hit the floor, that love marks covered her skin. That was all it took to catch her off-guard. The man's nautical hat fell off at his feet, a picket fence row of scars where his sideburns would be. Eyes glowing silver stared down into her toxic green ones as they both struggled to obtain the upper hand.

_Why wasn't he sick?_

**"****I am impervious to toxic embellishment."**

He grinned with teeth white as bone stained by years in the sun.. finishing with words that set her on edge immediately.

**"I am a genetically modified, radical genius from a planet you have not yet even HEARD of- I imagine. I utilize the very warrior basics of telepathically based advantages. You ARE a naughty girl aren't you..?"**

Malady hit the weakness all men had, but he'd been ready for her. However, an opening was an opening and she took it. And she ran.. for hours.

The methodical approach of his walk disturbed her to the very core of breathing. The voice was raspy, deep, like resonating through a cave of desire that echoed throughout her body. He was stronger, faster, and the last thing she needed was someone getting in the way of the very purpose they had materialized her there for. Malady had never been perfect, and was prone to mistakes now and again. The thick metal staple that caught her wrist, belted into the sides of the metallic casing was not coming free, and it spiked her adrenaline even higher.

_Could it be made out of the stuff of Starships?_

**"Dammit!"**

Duranium.. it was seeming to be- as she banged at it with her elbow. Fingers were fragmented from the fight, as the tall black shadow lingered over her, blocking the blue lights in the background. The silhouette was of a sharp, unsympathetic profile. His features mattered little to her, though they were made out pleasant. The dank smell of the illegal ship felt like a cage swimming through space. Several of her bones were broken, even as silver boots fell like the sound of crushing ants, Malady was aware she had dealt him damage as well.

Accented screams shivered through the air as burning flesh cradled where the micro-knife cut with such precision. He'd not wanted to be disturbed, she knew this but as a manipulated bio-weapon, what choice had she? Her knees had collided with a good few parts of this target, but even with the amount of crippling damage the visage showed almost none of it. Why? Even the pressure points seemed off somehow. Herdislocated wrist cradled itself in her other hand, adjusting it back into place as the hunt carried down through the hallways. Blue laser fire hit a silver apparatus, throwing up a force field that bounced her into his awaiting arms.

Malady felt the weight of the shadow, feeling a cold breath wisping over her face like grated ginger and vanilla, hearing it over the heartbeat in her ears. Warm lips soothed over hers, not at all lulling the heat threatening to consume her from the way she'd been designed. The frigid white air that poured from the pipes above them, settled nerves on fire into submission, even if the staples pinning her to the wall were the outer confirmation of their games. The blue lights, so much closer, the gray displays abandoned around the corner, turned the pale skin of the hands gripping her waist with the tint of a corpse. He wasn't suffering in those first few minutes after the skin blades hit into his shins. Even as his mouth took no prisoner, the flickering gray lights going off like seven flickering devils, no sign showed of the virus adapting to his physiology. The pheromones were residing, but their effect was ever prominent in the way it carried them over. And she responded to his type of interrogations- screaming as he tested multiple limits.

The tumbling of the shuttle smacked her around, uniform torn around the zippers and button snaps. Platinum hair hung like white straw, dry and ready to fall upon the floor should a hand brush through it. The white walls, and seating blurred out of her focus, small sounds around her, a lone biochemist poking through a bag. Just one more of her own little team of scientists.

**"****No torture, no science."**

Bruised and slowly mending shoulders made a crunch to a small head-adjustment meant to crack her neck a bit.

Lips, fingertips, knife play, scoured the memory of skin- repeating until it was like a week ago instead of the past few hours. Letting the analyzation poke holes in self-proclaimed justifications and weak reasonings..

Malady nibbled at the inside of her cheeks. His voice, surrounded her like the palms mapping her body in search of instructions, tearing apart the standard sports bra and boy-shorts like they were nothing. Legs twitched in real time, together, at the remembrance of the long hilt of a combat knife. And all he put her through, the slim cuts that healed quickly, the bruising teeth that ground the skin to purple highlights, before-

_The iron taste of her blood, though slightly sweet, stopped the nervous action of nibbling on the inside of her mouth, effectively interrupting her thoughts._

A long time ago Malady Afirma decided touch was beautiful and **rare** when it was without gloves and death.

This time was like another- enjoyably devastating. Twisted pleasure for a girl missing her background of ethical upbringing- it was almost nonexistent. He'd held her at the edges of insanity and death, before allowing a release like the sigh of fatality, curling into sinful retributions. By that time the Section had began to attack the ship and take what they wanted.

It was another time that other soldiers had to escort her broken body back to the shuttle. Not one person, she'd surmised, was there for a pure reason. Seduction and toxins were most of what her job required. She'd talk to a counselor, perhaps. But even they were instructed to withhold true psychological insights that could

get a person, yes, not that she was just a bio-weapon, but a person, to think for themselves. Just enough to get the mission done.

Malady was a harp and he'd cut so many strings. Tendons and a voice rutted from screaming and bladed sadism. His smile was disturbing, kisses sweet. The memory faded like a hand splashing violently against the surface of a pool of water.

Dr. Minerva was fretting about her wounds, but Malady couldn't care less. Tears tapered out of her unfeeling green rocks, unblinking and hyper-focused on the sealed door. Opening assassin. The rest of the group had come in and wiped out the weapon lab within minutes, and she mused that the man would be dead by now. Or worse.

_Regret? Was that what this was? Regret for..what?_

Fingers, not yet healed, smeared the saline between them. Dr. Minerva carefully wiped off her fingers and face so as not to contaminate anything. Green eyes narrowed, pouring tears with emotions she refused to acknowledge. It was the remnants of sensitivity, which would get her killed if left unrestrained. She couldn't even cry- or leak without decontamination procedures. She was walking chemical warfare, reminded every day it was not a matter of life, but death, and that she wasn't supposed to be a person, just an asset. But she was more. She knew she was. Eyelids, pale and blue, veins showing through them, closed at the thought of hot food and a good book before the next plans were laid out. And she despised the Section with all her heart, what was left of it.

Tonight, there'd be a repeated of what had happened before sleep took her away, forced to make a report, and eventually endure the next visit from another puppet with credentials.

**She sighed heavily.**


End file.
